


All That's Left Inside Us

by MrBendezedrine



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe, Human Trafficking, Kidnapping, M/M, Stockholm Syndrome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-07-19 05:15:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19968619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrBendezedrine/pseuds/MrBendezedrine
Summary: One week ago, Frank was on top of the world. Now the world has collapsed beneath his feet, and he's falling faster than he can stand up. When there's nothing left inside him, how is he supposed to live?One week ago, Gerard hit rock bottom. Now he's slowly crawling out of his pit of despair, and is finally back on his feet. This case could make or break his career. But when there's too much trapped inside him, how can he live without letting it all spill out?Stockholm Syndrome. Feelings of trust or affection felt in certain cases of kidnapping or hostage-taking by a victim toward a captor. Where empathy and a sense of humanity can be mistaken for love and lust. Where it causes one to look into the other to find what's really trapped inside, and to find a way to let it see the light of day.





	All That's Left Inside Us

The bloodshot eyes stared back at him from behind greasy black hair.

Gerard shut his eyes and gripped the bathroom sink, trying to push his nightmare out of his memory. But it would never go away, and it would continue to haunt him every day and night for the rest of his life.

He wished he could just forget it like everyone else could. Everyone can bolt out of bed after a nightmare, repeat to themselves over and over again that it wasn't real, and fall back into a blissful, dreamless sleep. But the problem was that the nightmare wasn't just that, it was a flashback. He couldn't tell himself that it wasn't real because it was all too real, and there was nothing that he would be able to do to fix it. It would follow him wherever he went, like a storm cloud above his head. Every time that he convinced himself he's outrun the storm and it no longer controls him, the cloud would open up above his head and begin to pour. Every time he tried to run, he'd just end up drowning again. 

He grabbed the bottle of Zyprexa and took his pills, making sure to lock it in the safe under the sink so his roommate wouldn't take them.

The drive to work he nearly crashed. The nightmare kept him up all night, and the little sleep he got was restless. He couldn't keep his eyelids from drifting shut, and he couldn't keep his brain from drifting back to it. Every time his eyelids briefly closed, he would keep seeing Mikey's face behind them.

He missed Mikey so damn much.

His little brother had been the only thing anchoring Gerard through his teenage years; the only thing keeping him alive. When he was just torn away from him, it was like Mikey latched onto part of his soul and took it with him.

He felt so, completely, dead inside. It had been years, but the night he left still remained vivid in his memory. And he kept focusing on that instead of the road in front of him, causing him to drift in and out of lanes, nearly crashing several times.

Before he knew it, he was wandering into the building like a zombie. The abandoned warehouse still seemed like such from the outside, but from the inside, it looked like your average office. Except for the fact that normal offices didn't have cells and dungeons. 

"Gerard! Looking good!" Pete clapped him on the back. He reached towards his shoulder, flicking off Pete's hand and trying to rub out the pain.

"The sarcasm isn't appreciated, Wentz," he mumbled. His boss was a complete, utter twat. He hated him with a burning passion.

"But would a complete, utter twat buy you coffee?" He asked, handing him a paper travel cup. His eyes widened when he realized he said those words out loud, but Pete didn't seem too fazed. He drank the warm liquid as if his life depended on it, and his mood was immediately improved.

"Thanks," he said. "What's on the agenda for today?" He began following Pete into his office, eyeing the cluttered white and string boards.

He sat back in his chair, shuffling his papers and logging onto his computer, as Gerard leaned against the doorway. "Well, it's the nearing the end of the month and Brendon is getting pissed that we haven't filled our quotas. Patrick's been researching all the people you've picked up, and there's nothing too special about them. They'll still bring in money, but not enough."

_Fantastic._

"So, what does that mean for us?"

He rubbed his face. "Brendon has been sending us a number of potential buyers. We don't have enough people for all of them, which is great because we can hike up prices. But it's still not enough to even break even, we just need more people. Even if we get a shit ton of high-profile ones, we just need more people to stay afloat. If we don't do that, this will have been the fifth month a row where we lose money. If we keep this up, the branch could close."

Gerard groaned. He _needed_ this job. Not just to keep him on his feet, but to keep his sanity. "So I'm going to be working non-stop, I presume."

He nodded. "Precisely. You'll need to be stealthy, as we have to do a lot in a little time. You'll need to pick up at least three people every day this week, the rest of the snatchers will be doing the same. If we do that, we should just barely make the quota. Patrick might give Joe some specific people to get, but for you, just anyone will do. We'll gamble with the population and hope we draw well."

"Will I get paid overtime for once?" He asked, hoping the answer was yes. It seemed as though every paycheck slipped from his hands into his roommate's. Instead of Gerard spending his hard-earned money towards food and bills, Bert would find the money and waste it on crack and pot. Maybe that's what Gerard got for still living with his ex, but he needed _someone_ to be around him all the time to make him know he was still alive.

He sighed. "I wish I could just say yes. I'll try my hardest, but it really depends on how great these people are. But you are _not_ to focus on that. I know we usually get more money for the chicks, but if you have the chance, _anyone_ will do. We're playing a numbers game here, Way. Don't try to change them yourself."

He nodded, the pressure on his shoulders growing heavier. He grabbed the keys to his van. 

"You have to be careful, though," he said as Gerard was leaving the office. "Stick to your normal area, don't venture out too far. We don't need the police making correlations."

The storm cloud was darker than ever, threatening to burst at any moment.

"Will do."

《 《 《 》》》

"You were just an experiment."

The words continued to ricochet through Frank's head as he stared blankly at the ceiling.

An entire summer of love, and all it was to him was an experiment? How could Ray dismiss everything that they shared in a single statement? _He wasn't gay._ Everything was corrupted. His first kiss with a boy, ruined. His one shot at happiness in a small town of monotony, destroyed by a lie. His first love, taken away from him by a blonde cheerleader who blew bubblegum.

Frank hated bubblegum.

His eyes drifted over to the guitar propped up against his dresser. Usually, he'd feel his fingers begin to tingle with the desire to fret the strings upon even looking at it. But as of recently, that tingle had been missing. He knew that if he picked it up, that excitement that jolted through his heard would be missing.

He felt as if whatever God existed turned on a vacuum and sucked the energy out of everything in his life. He didn't quite know what he believed in—he never has. But whatever almighty being that looked over the universe surely hated him. 

His door creaked open, and he lifted his head from the bed.

"Hey, son. Ma's almost done with supper. It's spaghetti— your favorite. Care to sneak in a catch?"

He knew that when he threw the football, he would picture Ray down the field, wide open for the touchdown, but he would be missing.

"No thanks, Will. I'm kind of tired."

His stepdad's face fell into one of concern. "You really shouldn't mope in your bed all day. We're worried about you. It's been over a month, you have to get over him eventually." He sighed when Frank didn't respond. "Food's on the table in ten."

The door shut and Frank curled into himself as his pillow became wet.

He felt like he let everyone down. The team hasn't won a game yet, and it's largely due to his lack of interest and refusal to even look at their best receiver. Eventually, Michigan would see how terrible he's become and revoke the full scholarship they offered him a year ago. He would end up stuck in the same small town just like everyone else, just to grow old and die alone.

He let down his mother, who was so proud of him. She'd been working three jobs to save for his college, and he had the chance to go to a great school for free. But he was throwing it all down the drain for some boy.

How could he ever love again? He gave absolutely everything he had to Ray. He put every ounce of trust into him, and was completely blindsided.

_"You see, Frank, I'm not really gay. I was just curious. You were there for me, so I chose you. But it's not what I want. It's not you, it's me. I'm just not into boys."_

He let himself down. Ray helped him build himself up, helped him learn to love himself, and without him, it all came crumbling down. 

He feels like he'd been left out in the cold, like he'd been left out to die. He was desperate for someone warm to fill the void left in his heart. 

He needed someone to make him feel like he wasn't dead inside. 

《 《 《 》》》 


End file.
